


Ain't A Zoo Animal

by softjohn



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BAMF Steve Rogers, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, One Shot, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Slash, Stucky - Freeform, bucky being a train wreck of a human being, steve taking No Shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 16:00:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9079588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softjohn/pseuds/softjohn
Summary: ‘Oh please, look longer,’ Bucky drawled, ripping out a couple paper towels from the dispenser. ‘Might as well take a damn photo while you’re at it.’He looked up into the mirror to see that Rogers was still standing in the same place wearing that appalled expression, like he’d never seen an injury before. Something about it drained a bit of the searing anger from Bucky’s mind and he turned, raising an eyebrow.‘I ain’t a zoo animal, Rogers,’ he said.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I found this in my 'unfinished' folder and decided to just post it as a one-shot. Hope you guys enjoy :)
> 
> Also this is set in Australia, specifically Brisbane - doesn't really make much difference, but I thought I'd mention it just in case some things don't make American sense (does that make sense?)

‘You seen that Natasha chick? I reckon she would have a much better time with us than that fuckin’ loser Barton. I’m almost tempted to go over, say hi.’

 

Bucky scratched at the cigarette burn beneath his sleeve and frowned. Tiredness itched behind his eyes and his mood was more sour than ever, courtesy of the couple two doors down alternately screaming at each other like freight trains and fucking like rabbits; he’d had to distract Becca with music and toys. ‘Can it, Rumlow. I ain’t bothered puttin’ up with your bull today.’

 

Brock Rumlow huffed but let it go, dipping his head so the morning sunlight slid across his cutting cheekbones. He would’ve been good looking, Bucky reflected, if his permanent smug look hadn’t made him look like a constant asshole. ‘Shit night?’

 

He gave Bucky a quick glance from the corner of his eyes. Brock could be a complete dick but he had his own problems, a junkie ma and a sick pa not the least of them. Probably why he and Bucky got on so well – they had a load of shared experiences. They’d met a few years back when Brock had been on the run for the second time and Bucky had been shoplifting a liquor store.

 

‘Yeah.’ Bucky’s brow twitched and he glared at the floor.

 

‘Dad?’

 

‘Nah, he was too off his face,’ Bucky said sourly. He screwed up his wrapper with a brutal twist of his fingers and threw it in the trash with maybe too much violence. ‘Good riddance. I hope he never fuckin’ wakes.’

 

‘But then who’d give you such _great_ tattoos?’ Brock’s eyes swept over the bruises peeping past Bucky’s collar. Bucky’s jaw clenched and he jerked his collar up, hiding the ugly mottle as he pushed away from the wall. They were around the back of the sports shed, isolated from the rest of the school. Cigarette butts littered the floor but neither Bucky nor Brock smoked, Bucky because there were too many bad associations and Brock because the things were the reason his da was dying in the first place.

 

‘Whatcha got now?’ Bucky asked as they turned the corner. He ran his fingers through his short hair, wincing slightly at the gritty feel. They were behind on the water bill again and the last time he’d had a shower was at some girl called Dot’s place. As they passed the netball court, where the grade twelves liked to haunt, he saw a girl – Daisy, maybe – quickly look away from him and back to her group of friends. He shot them a charming grin through the chain-link fence as they giggled and blushed.

 

Brock snorted at his antics, elbowing him in the side. He’d always been scornful of Bucky’s way with girls. ‘Prick. I got visual art, you?’

 

‘I dunno why you do that nerdy shit, man. I got physics.’

 

‘And that’s not fuckin’ lame?’

 

Bucky smirked and shoved Brock into the wall with a thud. A passing kid scrambled out of the way and Bucky almost apologised, but his father’s sneer appeared in his mind and suddenly he didn’t feel too goddamn apologetic. ‘At least I’m not the one lustin’ after an old woman’s saggy ass all day.’

 

‘Piss off, Barnes, Miss Hill’s only thirty.’ Brock gave him a numbing punch to the shoulder. ‘I’m not the one who’s going to end up with a fucking STD.’

 

Barking out a laugh, Bucky jostled Brock roughly with his elbow. He actually did like Brock. He wasn’t a good guy but neither was Bucky, and most of the time he could have honest fun around him and roughhouse like a normal teenage kid. Brock wasn’t into any of the heavy shit and it wasn’t like he went around assaulting elderly people or anything.

 

He did often toe the line though, as Bucky remembered when they reached the basketball court and Brock shoved him back, sending him stumbling across the tarmac and right into Steve Rogers.

 

Rogers was a short, skinny rail of a kid but after he’d moved to the school a year or so back from the US the local yobs had learned pretty quick not to mess with him. Brock had been the guinea pig. It was the day after his dad had taken a turn for the worse, his mum in the hospital for an OD, and he’d tried to take it out on the new kid. He’d gotten a black eye and a beaten ass for his trouble. Rogers might’ve been small but he didn’t take any shit.

 

‘Watch it,’ Rogers said, annoyed. His voice was pretty deep for such a tiny guy. Bucky felt a flare of irritation but bit it back, and things might’ve ended there if Brock hadn’t gotten all up in Rogers’ space. It was his own messed up, twisted way of caring, and if Bucky had been a different guy he might’ve appreciated his best (only) friend willing to deal out, but more likely suffer, a beating for him. As it was Bucky was just fucking tired and sick of life’s shit.

 

‘Maybe _you_ should watch it,’ Brock growled, glaring down – _far_ down – at Rogers. Rogers raised his chin and glared back. Glancing warily at the growing crowd, Bucky grabbed for Brock’s shoulder.

 

‘C’mon, Brock.’

 

Brock shook him off and stepped closer to Rogers. ‘You wanna make something of this, brat?’

 

‘Sure seems like you do.’

 

‘Brock, for _fuck’s_ sake—’

 

The crowd was much larger now, students sensing a fight like sharks sensed blood, and Brock was picking a fight right by where most kids hung before school. A few were already filming with their phones. It pissed Bucky off – his family barely scraped enough to afford food and here they were with the latest goddamn iPhone. He would bet that _they’d_ never had to jump out the window with their eight-year old sister and show her where to hide in the bushes before going back to become a punching bag for the man of the goddamn house.

 

‘You sure are lippy for such a fucking midget,’ Brock taunted. A muscle in Rogers’ jaw leapt; Bucky could tell that he was trying to keep his temper, but not even a saint could put up with Brock Rumlow when he was dead set on being a dick.

 

‘What’s your problem?’ Rogers asked sharply, his eyes hard.

 

‘Do I need one?’

 

‘So you’re just being a bully for kicks.’

 

Bucky could see Natasha Romanov’s distinct red hair sliding through the crowd, bright under the summer sun, right beside Sam Wilson’s tall beanpole build. His breaths felt short and tight – this was way out of control. Brock was acting even more irrational than usual and Bucky couldn’t help but recall the smash of glass and the smell of cheap beer.

 

‘Don’t get smart with me, you fucking _faggot_.’

 

Bucky flinched. Rogers did better than flinch, he punched Brock right smack bang in the face and he was down with a blood over his face and a fucked up nose, highlighted by the flash of cameras and the laughs and whoops of the crowd. Bucky suddenly felt like a caged animal and rounded on them, fists white at his sides.

 

‘Fuck off, all of you!’ They didn’t move – in their eyes Bucky was the quieter one, the slightly less psycho one, the one who would end up in juvie but at least wouldn’t be stabbed to death in an alley fight, the dead end fucking loser who was shit at school but who was never violent. Bucky knew that and it made red bleed into his vision, his voice rising to a scream. ‘Fuck. _OFF_.’

 

The crowd dispersed within seconds and Bucky reigned in his breathing for a second, before slapping Brock about the head. ‘Get the _hell_ up, Brock, you fucking idiot. Christ.’

 

The courts were quiet, and Bucky knew that they were probably missing class but he honestly couldn’t give less of a shit. The sun was too bright, igniting a pounding headache, his best friend was a complete retard and Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanov and Sam Wilson were _still_ _there_.

 

‘Fuck are you waiting around for?’ Bucky snapped. He didn’t look at them; he’d had enough for one day, even though it was only ten in the morning. His day had started at three a.m. with the crash of Mr. Two-Doors-Down punching a wall and it hadn’t got much better from there.

 

‘Let’s go, Steve,’ Wilson muttered from behind him. Out of the corner of his eye Bucky could see him tug Rogers away, Romanov following, but not without one last death glare which would’ve been terrifying if Bucky had any sort of remaining sense of self-preservation.

 

Bucky knelt down beside Brock and grimaced as he took in the mess that was his friend. There was blood all down his front, his hair was messed, his nose was crooked, a hell of a bruise was already splashed across his face and his eyes were tinged red.

 

Brock _never_ cried. Not fucking once had Bucky seen him cry. Not even when his mum had slipped into a coma after one too many ODs. It scared the shit out of him and he leaned closer, putting a hand on Brock’s shoulder. They were caring with each other about once a fucking year but- hell, Bucky was worried about his friend, his best friend, his _only_ friend.

 

‘Brock, what’s happened?’

 

Brock covered his eyes with a hand but Bucky could see how his face turned blotchy. ‘My da passed out last night. He’s dead and now I’m going into the system.’

 

Bucky was hit by a truck.

 

He couldn’t breathe.

 

‘What?’

 

‘The fucking _foster system_ , Bucky!’ Brock gave a rough laugh edged with hysteria. ‘I’m going into hell, I’ll never live in one place for more than a fucking month, I’ve got to fucking leave and I’ll never see anything familiar ever fucking again—’

 

Bucky gasped in a shallow breath but it didn’t reach his lungs. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ he croaked.

 

‘Because I knew you’d act like this, and fuck me but I didn’t want that.’

 

Bucky grabbed him and pulled him into a hug, he didn’t _care_ that they never did that sort of sappy shit, Brock was leaving, he was going into the system, and Bucky couldn’t get his head around that, couldn’t get his head around being alone with his dad and his way too fragile sister—

 

Brock sobbed into his shirt.

 

‘Fuck, Bucky, fuck, I don’t wanna go, _I don’t want to go.’_

Bucky’s fingers were digging into Brock’s back and he stared with unfocused eyes at the basketball hoop framed against the cloudless summer sky. His heartbeat was running throughout his entire body in great shuddering jerks and it fucking scared him because it felt like a heart attack, but it didn’t matter because Brock was _leaving_.

 

They clung on to each other until a teacher came, then the principal, then Brock’s brand new social worker, and he was gone.

 

Bucky got suspended for a week but barely even heard it. The teacher asked to wait for his guardian and he walked out of the room and all the way back to his housing unit in Mt Gravatt East. The world was a smeared blur and he couldn’t breathe properly and he could see a glint of blonde hair and he might’ve been having a heart attack. Bucky went home and got completely smashed, broke into the liquor cabinet and drained a bottle of Jack Daniels. He would’ve drank more but his dad came home.

 

His dad wasn’t pissed about the drinking. He didn’t give a flying fuck what Bucky did as long as he stayed out of his face, apart from the times when he needed something to hit which wouldn’t hit back. No, he was pissed about the fact that Bucky took _his_ drink and wasted _his_ liquor.

 

He’d said that Bucky might as well waste the bottle as well and smashed it against Bucky’s bare back.

 

Becca had done her best to clean him up. Bucky flatly refused to get to the hospital himself and the phone bill had run out months ago to call an ambulance. Bucky numbed the pain with some cherry rum hidden under his bed. A week later it had scabbed over a bit and Bucky went to school, if only because his sister’s primary was along the way; he would’ve ditched after but Becca had _looked_ at him and somehow he didn’t want to disappoint her.

 

Brock wasn’t there when he got back, and Bucky shouldn’t have been taken by surprise but it still felt like a massive fucking shard of shrapnel was just shoved right through his chest.

 

Bucky did okay through the day. He hung back and returned to being invisible. The teachers didn’t bother with him and to the other kids he was just a junkie boy who turned out to be just as much of a spaz as his friend. He tried to ignore the rumours about Brock but when after school some fucking brat started crowing about how Brock was a rapist sent to jail for molesting a little girl Bucky snapped and punched his teeth out. The kid’s friends all piled in and though Bucky came out on top through sheer unbridled rage it tore open the newest scars on his back, sending blood soaking his shirt and an inflamed pain searing through his back.

 

It was way after school hours but the janitor usually forgot to lock the bathrooms. Bucky stumbled his way there, avoiding the last few drifters. He slammed the barred door shut behind him and peeled off one of his last remaining shirts, which might’ve once been grey but was now a bright, ugly crimson. The movement made the hot tearing sensation rip down his spine again and Bucky swore, dropping the shirt to the ground with a wet slap.

 

The sound didn’t quite cover up the exclamation of ‘Holy _shit_ ’ from behind him.

 

Bucky glared in the mirror and somehow wasn’t surprised to see Steve fuckin’ Rogers standing in the doorway, looking completely stunned as his wide eyes roamed across the shitshow which was Bucky’s back. Bucky noticed that his eyes were a really bright shade of blue, then told himself that that sort of unnatural shit was the reason his life was this fucked in the first place.

 

‘Oh please, look longer,’ Bucky drawled, ripping out a couple paper towels from the dispenser. ‘Might as well take a damn photo while you’re at it.’

 

He looked up into the mirror to see that Rogers was still standing in the same place wearing that appalled expression, like he’d never seen an injury before. Something about it drained a bit of the searing anger from Bucky’s mind and he turned, raising an eyebrow.

 

‘I ain’t a zoo animal, Rogers,’ he said.

 

The kid blinked a few times before his gaze finally met Bucky’s face. ‘How did—’

 

‘Fell down the stairs in the middle of an armed robbery. Slipped off my skateboard running from the cops. Jumped through a window to steal candy from a fuckin’ baby. Whatever the hell you people wanna believe.’

 

He gave a tired, crooked smirk at Rogers’ expression. ‘Aw, come on, it ain’t that bad, surely? Ladies love the scars, y’know.’

 

Rogers ignored his bullshit. ‘Why aren’t you at a hospital?’

 

‘Why do I need one? Got all I need right here.’ Bucky brandished his paper towels with the appropriate amount of showmanship before turning back to the taps. It was the longest conversation he’d had with anyone other than Brock for months and it was with _Steve_ _Rogers_.

 

‘Those could get infected.’

 

Bucky shrugged, then winced at himself. _Fuck_. Ouch. Idiot, who would shrug with a shredded back?

 

‘You ain’t worried at all?’ Rogers asked, incredulity beginning to bleed into his tone. Bucky heard him take a step forwards instead of away and no, no, that was _not_ what he wanted – Bucky spun around, the paper towels being strangled in his grip.

 

‘Look pal, I don’t know why the fuck you’re here, out of some weird curiosity or thinkin’ I’m some sorta goddamn charity case, but I’m used to this shit and I don’t need the kid who got my best fucking friend—’

 

Bucky stopped and took a couple of breaths, turning away and bracing himself on the sink. Breathe. Breathe. He _wasn’t_ having a heart attack. He was okay. Well, not okay, but he was alive, mostly.

 

‘Rumlow’s expelled?’ Rogers’ tone was unreadable. Didn’t matter. Bucky didn’t even need to try at reading it; Rogers was fucking happy like a cancer patient was happy to be rid of a tumour. The only person missing Brock was Bucky.

 

‘He’s in the system,’ Bucky replied dully. His fingers clenched around the porcelain sink and he hunched his back, ignoring the ugly flaring pain. He just wanted Rogers to fuck the hell off but apparently the stubborn shit wasn’t taking the message and stepped closer. Bucky could see his eyes fixate on the trail of cigarette burns down his left arm. The naïve fucker probably didn’t even know what they were.

 

‘Hell, Barnes,’ Rogers said. ‘Who did this?’ His hand hovered over one of the darkest ones like he wanted to touch.

 

Bucky twisted away from his hand. ‘Why the hell would you care?’ he asked in return, eyes narrowing at Rogers.

 

‘’Cause it’s messed up,’ the kid replied with a frown. ‘And I don’t like bullies.’ He was now looking at the yellowing bruise splashed across Bucky’s collarbone and hell, now he really did feel like a zoo animal. Usually Bucky would’ve punched someone’s lights out by now for seeing this much of him – not even Brock saw all of his scars – but he was just so damn _tired_.

 

‘Not like anyone can do anythin’ about it,’ Bucky said with a casualness he didn’t feel. He reached back and swiped at his back with the towels, ignoring the irritated burning which this warranted.

 

‘Christ!’ Rogers exclaimed angrily, snatching Bucky’s wrist. He was weirdly strong. ‘What are you _doing_?’

 

Still, he was an idiot and Bucky made sure to tell him that with his stare as he jerked his arm free. ‘Well, I don’t _wanna_ bleed everywhere, pal. My shirt’s screwed enough as is.’

 

‘You’re just gonna go home like that?’

 

‘S’like you’ve never heard’a the phrase _walk it off_.’

 

Bucky felt like this was a moment where he should have smiled his grin, his charming Bucky grin which could make any guy feel inferior and get him up any girl’s skirt. Only Brock had remained supremely unimpressed by it. And Becca, of course. She thought that he was a complete poser and made sure to tell all of her friends exactly that.

 

For some reason it was the thought of Becca which suddenly hit him hard, the thought of her fucking shitty future and the way her innocence was gonna run out sooner or later, that it was still three years till Bucky was eighteen and could live with her on his own, that maybe one day Bucky wouldn’t be fast enough or even around and Becca’s stupid sly smile would be ruined by the man supposed to be their father. Bucky only realised that he was crying when Rogers touched a part of his shoulder which was uninjured, but he flinched away like it had been slashed to high heaven.

 

It was too much, all of it. Becca and Brock and his fucking deserter of a mother and his future in and out of juvie until he finally did something bad enough to get banged up in jail for the rest of his miserable life.

 

At least his father wouldn’t be there.

 

But neither would Becca, and Christ, he can’t fucking abandon her.

 

‘Just fuck off,’ Bucky snapped at Rogers, who for some reason was still standing there. He dashed at his tears angrily with the heel of his palm. ‘Leave me alone.’

 

Rogers folded his arms. ‘No.’

 

‘What?’ Bucky stared at Rogers for a bit longer, at the determined furrow of his brow and the strong set to his skinny shoulders, and this kid was the weirdest fucker that Bucky had met in his entire life. ‘Why the hell not?’

 

It was Rogers’ turn to frown at him like he was an idiot, but in an unpatronising and oddly earnest way. For some reason that made something cold inside Bucky melt a little, which he really didn’t want to think about.

 

‘’Cause you obviously can’t take care of yourself at all, and _someone_ needs to damn well do it.’

 

Bucky started laughing and once he started he couldn’t stop, buckling against the wall and laughing until he was breathless and his ribs hurt and his eyes hurt but Steve was still looking at him all earnestly, heroically determined and shit.

 

‘That’s the best joke I’ve heard all year, mate.’

 

‘I’m serious,’ Rogers told him, beginning to sound a bit irritated.

 

Bucky’s mood turned dead sober. It probably had been all along, the laughter being more hysteria than actual amusement. ‘So am I.’ He knelt back down to pick up the paper towels from where they’d fallen after Rogers grabbed him. ‘You should go.’

 

The smell of rust was smothering and tangy and Bucky watched his own blood spread across the wet bathroom floor like watered wine. Exhaustion hit him like a baseball bat and the world greyed for a moment, but he caught himself with a fist to the tiles.

 

‘At least let me clean you up,’ Rogers said after a moment. Bucky turned to glare at him incredulously – seriously, didn’t this kid know how to damn well quit? And Bucky had thought that _he_ was thick headed. Rogers saw his look and huffed, folding his arms. ‘My mum’s a nurse. I know some stuff, enough to stop you bleedin’ out and dying at very least.’

 

His tone was definitely biting, but for some reason Bucky thought about it. Despite popular opinion he actually wasn’t actually a damn retard; he knew this was probably the best care he’d get. He wouldn’t let Becca see that sort of shit again. Bucky didn’t _want_ to die.

 

So he shrugged and said, ‘Alright. But not a word to anyone, ya hear? Not one damn word, Rogers.’

 

Rogers rolled his eyes like a pro. ‘Whatever you say, Barnes. Look, I need to get some stuff, I’ll be right back.’

 

Bucky spent a couple antsy minutes alternately worrying that Rogers was going to bring a teacher or actually just leave him to bleed out onto the floor, cause Bucky really wasn’t sure he’d be able to stand. He flopped onto his back with a sigh and closed his eyes, relishing the feel of the cool tiles against his inflamed skin.

 

‘That’s disgusting,’ came Rogers’ derisive tone from the door. ‘D’you know what’s been done there?’

 

Bucky half-smirked tiredly, not bothering to open his eyes. They felt heavier than an entire fucking crate of bricks. ‘Yeah, and I’ve done half of ‘em.’ He stretched languidly to be an extra special dickhead, arching his back off the floor. Rogers’ exasperated sigh was a beat too late and Bucky cracked his eyes open at a light kick to his foot.

 

‘They really are gonna get infected.’ Rogers frowned disapprovingly down at him. ‘Get up, Barnes.’

 

‘Can’t,’ Bucky said, screwing up his face. After a moment of steeling himself he rolled onto his front and braced his burning forehead on his arm, gritting his teeth at the resulting wave of pain. ‘Go on then. Do your shit.’

 

He heard Rogers kneel by him, some sorta liquid sloshing with the movement, then pause. ‘This is gonna hurt.’

 

‘Whatever.’ Bucky pressed his face into the crook of his elbow. Rogers seemed to consider how to go about doing it for a moment before letting out a near-silent huff and sloughing the liquid, whatever it was, all over his back. It stung like _shit_ and Bucky muffled a noise into the floor, nails digging into his own skin.

 

‘Okay?’ Rogers asked, an edge of concern almost creeping into his serious tone. Bucky thought that he should definitely be something in medical. He probably knew all about hospitals already from the beatings he took. Rogers might’ve been strong but he was still lippy and not buff enough to make up for it.

 

‘’M fine.’

 

Rogers snorted but didn’t say anything, which was uncharacteristic. The silence continued as he dabbed carefully at Bucky’s back with a cloth, until his back felt raw and tight as drumskin and it was a battle not to flinch away from each touch.

 

‘Why won’t you go to the hospital?’ Rogers finally asked. Bucky blinked out of the weird daze he’d been in – finally catching up on some sleep maybe, after a week of being to fucked up to close his eyes – and tried to glare at the floor, but it just ended being a tired little frown.

 

‘Too many questions,’ he replied shortly. He tapped his finger into a puddle and bit the side of his mouth when Rogers wiped at a spot on his shoulder. It was weird, it was all so fucking weird, Steve Rogers of all people cleaning up his dad’s latest masterpiece as Bucky lay half-naked on his front on the bathroom floor trying not to think about how warm and gentle Rogers’ touch was.

 

Fuck. This unnatural shit was getting out of hand.

 

‘But why – oh. I guess you don’t want the police.’

 

Bucky drew aimless patterns with his water puddle and didn’t reply.

 

‘At least tell me whether this is from someone I need to worry about myself over,’ Rogers said finally. Bucky huffed out a laugh at the boy scout firmness of his voice. He was so…Bucky didn’t even know what he was. Not normal, that was for damn sure.

 

‘I’m not involved with the gangs or whatever you’re thinkin’,’ Bucky drawled. ‘Just another fun night with dear old dad and his best buddy Jack, with who it is apparently a punishable offence to have some fun with.’

 

‘Jack?’

 

‘Uncle Jack, Jack D, Jack Daniels. Liquid gold. The _wheelchair_ of alcohol.’ He glanced over his shoulder to see Rogers all frowning and confused. He’d probably never even been drunk, hell, never even tipsy. Bucky wondered what it was like to be a normal sixteen-year-old. ‘Whiskey, pal.’

 

‘Huh.’ Rogers’ brow furrowed even further and he looked down. Something about his expression made Bucky want to hide so he pressed his face back into his elbow and wished that his damn shirt was closer. Or on. Or that he was about a thousand miles away in a dark, tight space all alone.

 

‘Was there alcohol in the bottle?’

 

Bucky had to admit, Rogers was doing a pretty good job of keeping his tone detached and not too judging. Of course, he was Steve Rogers and thus a mouthy little shit so he couldn’t completely succeed.

 

‘Yeah.’

 

Rogers was silent for a moment, like some suspicion of his had just been confirmed. Bucky was way too wiped to care.

 

‘Might’ve helped disinfect it a bit. It’s healing up okay, I’m just cleanin’ it with water and non-invasive soap, then I’ll maybe put some antiseptic on. I can’t stitch it and you won’t go to a hospital but it’ll probably heal by itself as long as you don’t do anything too stupid. You got any painkillers?’

 

‘I’ve got a bottle of Popov under my bed,’ Bucky mumbled.

 

‘Is that whiskey as well?’

 

‘Vodka.’

 

‘Christ, Barnes, you got a problem.’

 

‘No, _really_ , Rogers. I never realised. Not once in my life.’

 

Bucky twisted a bit to see Rogers pursing his lips like a wizened, unimpressed granny and couldn’t help his small amused noise. Rogers scowled back at him and clambered to his feet. ‘I’ll see if I can get some acetaminophen or ibuprofen. It’ll work a lot better than alcohol, and maybe you won’t even lose any brain cells.’

 

He gave a very sardonic look somehow without moving any of the muscles of his face and Bucky gave a small lopsided grin. Rogers was turning out to be a lot less of a dick than he’d thought. Still annoying, though.

 

‘For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about what Brock said.’ Bucky turned back to rest his cheek on his folded arms. ‘He can be an ass, but – he was having one of the shittiest fucking days, which is a weak excuse, but it’s all I got.’

 

It hurt a bit to talk about Brock. Bucky wasn’t used to those kinds of sappy emotions and tried not to think on it too much. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately.

 

‘You don’t have to apologise, Barnes,’ Rogers said firmly.

 

‘Barnes is my dad.’ Before Bucky could think more past the impulse, the sudden rear of hate against that goddamn name, he added ‘Just call me Bucky.’

 

Embarrassment was a hot flush and he glared at one of the mouldy pipes on the wall. Bucky could hear Rogers shifting behind him, but still blinked stupidly in surprise when a hand appeared in his face.

 

‘Well get up, Bucky, you can’t lie there forever,’ Rogers ordered and he was so fucking irritating but Bucky took his hand anyway and let himself be hauled to his feet. He winced slightly at the scrape of pain, then looked down at Rogers, who he had for some reason expected to be taller.

 

‘I’ll get the drugs to you tomorrow,’ Rogers told him. He held up a clean grey hoodie. ‘This has been in my bag for a while but it’s pretty clean and a bit big, so it should fit.’

 

‘Thanks.’ Bucky gave a short dip of his head as he took it, before smirking at him. ‘Didn’t know you were a dealer, Rogers.’

 

Rogers rolled his eyes. His eyelashes were really fucking long and Bucky really fucking wanted to punch himself. ‘You know what I meant. And Rogers is my mum, so call me Steve.’

 

Bucky nodded and pursed his lips up into a crooked line, that weird little tic that Becca said made him look like an emoji. ‘I’ll see ya around then.’

 

‘Sure thing,’ Steve replied with a hint of a grin. For the first time the little furrow between his eyebrows actually disappeared and he looked like he might have a personality beyond idiotic heroism and anger, and Bucky felt this itch in his fingers and quickly curled them into the fabric of the hoodie. It felt thick and warm, probably two years newer than anything Bucky owned, and really he knew it was gonna go straight to Becca. Still, it was a nice thing to do, the actions of a good guy. Maybe? It probably said something about Bucky that he didn’t really know.

 

Steve gave him one last stupid curved smile before he turned and left, and for the first time in a long while Bucky felt like maybe he could have a future after all.

 

Because of Steve Rogers.

 

 _Shit_.

 

 

 

 


End file.
